


Blood is Rare

by IronPagoda



Category: CrankGameplays - Fandom, Crankiplier - Fandom, Supernatural AU, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Smut, Supernatural Lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27632965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronPagoda/pseuds/IronPagoda
Summary: Mark and Amy are experienced hunters of the supernatural and paranormal, and one case brings on new trouble for them.
Relationships: Crankiplier
Comments: 105
Kudos: 262





	1. 'Choke' - I Don't Know How But They Found Me (NSFW)

**Author's Note:**

> There's more to this than smut I swear  
> There's...there's actual plot here please you gotta believe me  
> (Also! Every chapter is planned to be named after a song that most fits it, enjoy!)

The seven-year old boy continued to throw a fit, kicking up the gravel around him as he let the entire area know he was most certainly  _ not  _ happy. Of course, the townsfolk of Happisburgh, Maine, were well aware of Robert Mills’ temperament. His weary mother was grateful there wasn’t a crowd around as she tried to settle her son.

“Robbie!” She holds fast to his arm, pulling him towards the entrance. “Your dad got us these tickets early, this’ll be fun! No lines or anything.”

“I don’t wanna go!” His tantrum grows louder, and his older sister increases the volume of her headphones. “I don’t wanna go through some stupid maze!”

“Oh honey, you love the maze. Remember last year?”

“No!”

Mrs. Mills chews on her cheek for a moment, the lip gloss smudging the corners of her mouth. “Okay….well, what if we went for ice cream afterwards? As a family?”

“Dad’s not here,” pipes up Harper, scrolling away at her game.

“He’s protecting the town, he works very hard. Now come on-” she pleads, clapping her hands together, “-Let’s go use our brains and do some maze running!”

_ “Mom” _

“What? You loved that movie!”

The complaints only worsen as they enter the maze. It’s clear as to why admission tickets weren’t publicly available yet as the trio step around loose extension cords and discarded props. 

“I hate it here.” Robbie huffs, already stomping ahead of the group and through the forested path.

“Give it a chance-”

“Whatever!”

She can only watch her son run ahead, and it’s no use going after him. “Well,” she sighs, “At least he’s getting his exercise.”

There’s no comment from her older child, who is perfectly content to walk at her side and slash at skeletons on her screen. Continuing forwards, the fresh smell of pine does little to soothe her nerves as she sees no further sign of her son. A left turn, then a right, and his tracks are fading in the drying mud.

“Robbie!” Mrs. Mills calls out. “Robbie, where are you?”

Rounding another left turn, there’s no sign of him. Her pace picks up faster. “Robbie?! Rob- _ Oh God!” _

A wooden ghost on a stick springs out from the pines, startling the frazzled woman. Her hand presses against her heart, surely to feel it stop beating, while her other latches tight to her remaining child. “Mom,” Harper whines, “It’s just a ghost.”

The rough, clipped sounds of a scream echo through the pines, even reaching young Harper Mills. It’s the perfect emanation of Robert, his voice high, youthful, and terrified.

“Robbie!” Shrieks his mother, stumbling in a circle, desperate to find the source of the sound.  _ “Robbie!” _

* * *

“Two people missing?” Mark raises an eyebrow, scrolling lazily through the article. “Not much of a case, is it?”

“Yeah, but look what else I’ve got.” From her tattered backpack, Amy pulls forth a notebook. She’s gone through at least half the rainforest, and he can’t fathom why she doesn’t keep electronic records at this point.

The third post-it down in the long line tracing the top edges of the paper allow her to quickly flip to her current notes, displaying short tipped letters crammed onto the lines. She points out a long list of names and dates, sliding down to the most current set of numbers.

“There’s all kinds of missing people here, going back all the way to the grand opening. Most were temporary workers, people who come and go, you know? But some of these people were locals.”

“How many we talkin’?”

“At least twenty-three, but some might not have even had missing persons’ reports filed. It’s...sad.”

Mark nods, mustering up a sympathetic look. Most of what they do is ‘sad’, but they’re not really in the funeral business. “What’re you thinking?”

She does a quick scan of the restaurant, fairly empty for a late Wednesday morning. Another page is pulled forth, and he admires the drawings while she speaks. “It’s a pretty wooded area, but not really wendigo territory. Records are vague, probably not a ghoul. Too few for werewolves, too spread out for a vamp, could be a lotta things.”

“Guess we better get going then.”

It’s a long drive from Illinois to Maine, but given their last case, Mark’s happy to see the town in their rear view mirror. Restocked, refueled, and raring to go, the dirt roads turn to highways and freeways soon enough.

As much of a realist (and pessimist) as he is, Mark doesn’t mind the long trips when the views are nice. The wide-spread branches of the oak trees in Northern Illinois shrink in the distance, their large canopies giving way to the afternoon sunlight that spreads across the dashboard. Lush grasses and ditch lilies line the road, disrupted by the odd flow of traffic but roots holding strong until fall. He passes the other half of his time by reading through his own journal. It’s nearly falling apart, but the faded drawing of the marines emblem on the cover holds too many memories to give up. A few pages are bookmarked, but he can’t make many guesses till they have more information.

Nearing the East coast, they climb higher into the mountains. The weather worsens and rolls in thick fog, but if he cranes his head just right, he can spot the striking outcrops of rock and hillside foliage. 

Non-stop driving gets them to Happisburgh by Thursday evening, and his legs are shot. If he were smarter, he would’ve picked the first half for driving. But here he is, stumbling out of the car and groaning as he stretches out his poor limbs. 

Amy jogs back from the main office, tossing him the keys. “Room seven, all yours for tonight. I’m heading over to the court office for records...unless you wanna come with?”

_ Stuck in a small room with disgustingly old papers.  _ “Nah, you go ahead”

There’s a cheeky  _ ‘I called it’  _ smile on her face, but she snags the van keys from him without a word. He watches the neon lights of the ‘Old Country Motel’ glint off the refurbished vehicle before she drives off down the road, the electric green weaving stretched patterns of light. 

Sore as he is, he’s got too much on his mind for sleep. He may have the room to himself for now, but boredom overcomes him. There’s a bar only a block down the road that sounds promising, and he turns his back to the motel as he sets off with a new mission in mind.

He adds to the smudges on the glass door, being as the push bar was hanging on by a single screw. Given that the place was half full, he wagers that it’s about 90% of the town population. There aren’t a whole lot of people to work with, but the bar itself looks halfway decent. Mark takes a seat and orders a soda and a burger. Nothing too crazy. He can’t drink, but it works to his advantage when he’s out on nights like these.

The main reason he’s sat on the rickety barstool is two seats away, drink half-finished and picking at the ‘complimentary’ pretzels. And Mark likes his chances. The meal is just okay, and he eats while watching the other patron on the bar stools.

He’s dressed just a little too nicely for the place.  _ Not a local. _

He’s skinny, but without an off-putting scrawniness.  _ Good size. _

And when he feels Mark’s eyes on him, he turns to give him an odd look.  _ Great eyes. _

Mark gives him a casual smile, complemented with a short nod. The low blush on the other man is promising, though it could be from the alcohol, given his youthful appearance. 

“Mark.” He invites himself closer, confidence high. “Not from around here. You?”

“Oh, uh, Ethan. And, same”

“What’s your business, Ethan?” He lets the name roll off his tongue with the low baritone of his voice, and the kid goes a little redder.

“Just here for work.” There’s an unheard sigh from him as he looks down at his drink. “Been better.”

The mood dips a little, so Mark puts on his best  _ ‘Everything okay?’  _ voice when he speaks, nudging his leg against Ethan’s. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I dunno.” He giggles nervously, a soft noise that makes Mark smile wider. “What about you, huh? Vacation?”

“Oh...something like that. Staying at the motel down the street”

“Nice, how is it?”

“Not bad. You know, maid service, olympic sized swimming pool, my own butler”

Ethan laughs it off, his grin reaching his eyes and making them glint in the low light. “Yeah, I’m sure”

“No, no, I’m serious. King sized bed and everything, with crown molding all over” He laughs along with him, soaking up the attention with ease.

“Well it sounds amazing”

He flashes the sharp points of his canines with a tilted smile, coming to rest a hand on his bicep. “Wanna check it out?”

They’re plenty handsy on the street, but as soon as the door closes behind them, Ethan clings to him like a koala on a tree. He hefts him up easily against the door, hands under his ass while Ethan wraps his legs around his waist with a flexibility that makes Mark  _ very  _ excited. 

His mouth slotted against Ethan’s with a natural familiarity, and even with the upper hand, he let Ethan take control. Slim fingers held tight to his head, Ethan’s lips were unbelievably soft, his tongue tracing over his teeth and threatening to steal the air from his lungs. 

Mark nibbled on his bottom lip, eliciting a small whine that reminded him of what he was actually here for. With Ethan still wrapped around him, he moves away from the door and walks over to the bed.

He physically drops him down, lavishing the small noise he makes when he hits the mattress. Mark’s on him instantly, hands planted on either side of his head and legs ensnaring him between them. The gentle kisses down his neck turn punishing, sucking hard on his collar and mouthing over the freckled skin. 

The focus almost makes him miss whatever nonsense Ethan is babbling about, and he stops with a huff. “What’re you saying?”

“You lied about the king sized bed.” He giggles, digging his hands into his waist with a lazy roll of his hips.

Mark huffs a breath through his nose, a sarcastic comment on his tongue. But, he’s got more important things to worry about. He sits up, pinning Ethan underneath him while he works at the buttons on his shirt.  _ Too many damn buttons. _

When he’s got Ethan’s bare chest laid out before him, smooth and perfect, he runs his hands appreciatively up his ribs and ducks his head down to leave a trail of open mouthed kisses. It’s hard to focus with Ethan squirming and digging into him with his boney fingers.

_ “Mark,”  _ he whines, drawing a leg up in frustration and almost kneeing him in the crotch.  _ Bigger picture, idiot- _

Ethan’s mumbling something again, a petulant look crossing over him. God, he can’t even think. “Huh?” He asks shortly, and when he has to ask a second time, Ethan grabs him by the back of his neck and drags him down.

“-Wanna blow you,” he murmurs, low and warm into his ear. 

His brain shuts down for a blissful second. It’s long enough for Ethan to take control, rolling him over and sliding down his chest while he unzips and pulls down his pants. He’s finally focusing on something, and Mark watches as he dips a hand into his boxers. 

He palms him a bit before shoving his boxers down, finally putting his mouth to good use. 

Mark sucks in a ragged breath as he licks a stripe up his cock, lapping at the head and working slowly before sinking down. The tight, wet heat of his mouth has him reeling, and he has to force himself not to thrust up into his throat. He grabs a handful of his hair, not forcefully, but Ethan hums at the sensation as he works his tongue around his cock. The sensation is utterly electric, his skin on fire in the best way.

He watches him bob up and down, faster than he expected but  _ fuck. He’s got a good fucking mouth.  _ There’s a low groan in the back of his throat as Ethan takes him all, nearly pressing his nose to his groin as his lips stretch obscenely over his cock. 

The tight heat in his stomach becomes unbearable, and Ethan’s whining again as he pulls him off and drags him up into a brutal kiss. He bites at his lips, his perfect cock-sucking lips, only breaking off to ask him-

“You want me to fuck you?”

There’s a needy  _ yes  _ in reply, but Mark barely hears him as he pins Ethan under him once again. His own shirt is gone in a minute, and while he’s working himself out of his pants, Ethan’s doing the same.

He’s got a nice cock, a decent size, and maybe not as thick as his own but a good length. Any other night, Mark would be content to ride him till he screams. But it’s been a long fucking week, and he just wants to make someone his bitch for a couple hours. 

There’s lube and a condom in his duffel, and when he turns back around he sees Ethan, propped up on the pillows and eyes closed as he lazily jacks himself off.

Mark’s on him with force, grabbing his offending hand and flipping him around so that it’s pinned to his back. There’s a shocked squeak from him, but when he feels Mark’s finger dipping between his ass, the noise becomes a breathy moan. 

The lube is somewhat cold, so he works the single finger in slowly, moving in and out as Ethan relaxes around him. When he’s got him good and soft, he works in another finger, his free hand still pinning Ethan’s arm. 

Ethan pushes back on his hand, giving him those sweet moans that carry an addictively light tone. He’s past the knuckles now, working them in further through the tight heat until he crooks them up and has Ethan crying out. He digs them in a little harder, leaning down to bite at his shoulder.

He preps him until he can’t stand it anymore, his fingers slipping in and out with ease. Ethan whines again when the scissoring stops.  _ Is he always this whiny?  _ Mark thinks, trying not to get distracted as he rolls the condom over himself. He grabs Ethan by the waist, lifting his ass into the air and lining him up with his cock.

_ Definitely a good pick.  _ He’s practically  _ begging  _ for him, and the volume only rises as Mark slowly pushes in. Ethan moans into the mattress, adjusting his head so that his nose isn’t pressing down. Positions didn’t matter much to Mark, but he doesn’t want those needle fingers digging into him while he’s trying to get off. 

Experimentally, he thrusts forwards. And  _ dear lord.  _ “God you’re fucking tight.”

He swallows hard, rolling his hips again and lavishing the way he can feel the muscles stretching around him. Tightening and expanding as he thrusts harder, each time forcing a breath from the smaller man. 

Soon enough, his hips smack against Ethan’s as he sets a brutal pace. And when it’s not enough, he finally lets go of his arm to grab the back of his neck and fully pound him into the mattress. 

Ethan’s got his mouth running like a motor, fueling the heat in his gut. “Oh shit oh fuck oh fuck,” he curses, digging his knees into the mattress and pushing back against Mark. 

He fucks him hard and rough, taking out his frustrations while he’s got him bent over and hard for him. Ethan’s hands grip the sheets and threaten to tear them, but at no point does he stop rolling his hips to meet Mark’s pace. He’s got fucking stamina, and Mark’s impressed by the skinny twink. 

He lets his head fall forwards, hair damp from sweat and swinging down as he thrusts forwards, taking him deep and hearing the moans grow hoarse. He’s close, unbelievably close, and he’s not sure how much longer he can last until Ethan forms a coherent word-

_ “Harder” _

And Mark is done for. Dick throbbing, heat scorching, his jaw goes slack as he cums, a guttural moan spilling from him. His hips twitch, stuttering as he loses the intensity. The hand on Ethan’s neck moves to jack him off, the sweat on his palm and the precum moving slickly up and down his cock. He spills on Mark’s sheets after three solid strokes, voice cracking with the forceful way he says his name as he cums.

Utterly spent, Mark falls forwards, his body refusing to hold himself up any longer. His skin sticks to Ethan’s, who, for a minute, is content to be crushed by his weight. 

“Uh....hey,” he rasps, carefully stretching out his arms, “Can I use your shower?”

“Yeah man, go ahead”

He pulls out with a soft grunt, rolling over to let Ethan get up. Making his way to the edge of the bed, he ties off the condom and tosses it in the trash, considering a shower for himself.

_ Yeah, actually, a shower would be good. _

The water’s already running when he opens the door, thin wafts of steam curling around the ceiling. He steps into the tub without a word, despite startling Ethan. He rinses out his hair, standing unabashedly close to him under the spray of water. Ethan’s giving out awkward vibes, and Mark’s not ready for the weird little ‘See ya later’ tension that’s inevitable, so he lathers up his hands with soap and works them over Ethan’s chest. 

He doesn’t want the weirdness that will come. All he wants is the temporary closeness and afterglow that outshines the horrible week he’s had. He just wants one normal moment like this. Ethan gives in to the touch, leaning against him while he gets soaped up. He lets him, continuing the repetitive motions until the water runs cooler.

After he’s found his clothes and parted, Mark tosses the comforter into the corner for a washing later. He’s never been a big blanket person anyways. On his back, counting the stains on the ceiling and listening to people fight above him, he can’t sleep. He wants too, of  _ course _ he wants too. But his brain forces his eyes open and muscles to remain tense.  Lately, things have been weighing a little heavier. Amy’s noticed it, not like anyone could miss it. She hasn’t spoken up, but it hasn’t been a problem.

Yet. 

For now, he waits. For sleep, or Amy. Whichever comes first.

  
  



	2. 'Say it Ain't So' - Weezer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and Amy do some investigating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving!  
> A bit dialogue heavy, but still excited to share the new chapter

Amy’s back around nine. He’s alerted by the jangle of keys into the lock, already up and blinking away the sleep by the time she’s inside.

“Hey,” she greets him, paper bag in hand. “I got food from the bar down the street.”

He raises his arms apologetically. “Already checked it out”

“More for me-” she catches sight of the blanket tossed on the floor, putting the clues together eerily fast. “You’re disgusting.”

“What?” Mark feigns innocence.

“I was gone for like,  _ maybe  _ two hours”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”

She bites down hard on her cheek, eyebrows raised and accusatory. But, if Mark knows her, and he does, she won’t outright say it. And when she sits down with a huff, he can’t hide the smirk on his face.

“So, while _I_ was actually busy-”

“I was busy.”

“I hate you.  _ Anyways-”  _ She hands him a copied document, the handwriting faded with age, “-I found something pretty interesting. Looks like when the town was first founded, it was a decent trade harbor for sailors. But, some written accounts say that a lot of those sailors didn’t make it back to their ships.”

“They could’ve partied a little too hard. My guess is still on werewolf”

“Yeah, but check this out-” she pulls a square of paper from her bag, unfolding it across the table to reveal a large map, “-Right where the Happisburgh maze is now, that land used to be a sort of ‘festival’ ground for travellers. The records get kinda vague, who knows what went down.”

Mark scans the map, eyes wandering over the large portion of green outlined with a blue pen. “So let's check it out”

“Actually, I was thinking we pay Mrs. Mills a visit tomorrow, see what she’s got to say about it”

“Gotcha, the ol’ good cop, bad cop routine.” He snags a fry from her meal, grinning mischievously. “I got dibs on bad cop!”

“You would be a bad cop”

Mark only laughs.

* * *

Donned in the cheapest suits money can buy, they approach the ranch style home, yard littered with forgotten toys. After a few solid knocks, Mrs. Mills opens the door with reddened eyes and a nervous expression.

“Can I help you?” She asks, voice wavering.

“Hi,” Amy says softly, “I’m officer Cartwright and this is officer Warfstache-” they both flash their badges quickly to avoid scrutiny, “-We’re from the state police department. We were hoping to ask you a few questions.”

“I-I’m sorry, the police were already here-”

“Local, yes,” Mark cuts in. “But we felt it was important to meet with you”

“Oh, um, I guess. Uh, well, come in then.”

She points them towards the living room after ensuring that their polished loafers were left at the front door. “I wasn’t expecting so many visitors today,” she says, a weakly polite smile making a brief appearance.

“Don’t worry ma’am,” he says, using his most ‘professional’ tone, “We’ll make it quick-”

His jaw locks up. Sitting in the living room and holding an empty mug is an unfortunately familiar face. 

He’s wearing khakis, and a blue polo with a little white cross stitched on the breast. He’s cleaned up, well-groomed, and definitely avoiding eye contact with Mark. Mrs. Mills addresses him with a soft look, pointing him out as if Mark couldn't already see the scrawny figure.  “Oh, officers, this is Pastor Lucas, he’s from the Walcott Church, the next town over. Part of the, er…”

“Community outreach, ma’am. And, uh, thank you for the tea, but I should get going”

“Oh, yes.” She takes his hands, clasping them together. “Thank you for everything, pastor”

“Of course.” He sidesteps awkwardly around Mark and Amy, nodding at them with a pained smile.  The air goes stale in the garishly decorated living room, and Mark feels like using one of the many throw pillows to suffocate himself. 

His partner claps her hands together, getting everyone’s attention. “Why don’t we get started?”

“Of course, officer.” Mrs. Mills sits delicately on the loveseat, looking like she might crack and shatter. “What would you like to know?”

Pulling forth a notepad, Amy wastes no time. “Do you remember hearing any odd noises that day? Seeing anyone strange?”

“N-no, no. We were the only ones there, my husband got us early tickets from the owner. He...he-” She purses her lips, bringing a hand to her mouth.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Mills-”

“Catherine, please”

“Catherine, did you see anything you thought was strange? Any markings?” Amy presses on, allowing Mark to snoop discreetly through the knick-knacks in the background. 

“No, I….I didn’t, it was perfectly normal, I don’t know what happened”

“How did you find your way out of the maze?”

“I don’t know how, we got so turned around we ended up finding the entrance”

“And your husband was first on the scene?”

“Yes. I didn’t know who to call-” her voice cracks, and she has to take a sip from her mug before continuing, “-He was there so fast, just running in there. He’s the sheriff here…. _ was  _ the sheriff.”

“But they haven’t found any bodies,” Mark pipes up, inspecting a ceramic angel.

“That’s true,” she says meekly, “They could be lost, who knows how much land Jonny has anymore-”

“Who’s Jonny?”

“The owner, he and my Frank were good friends.” She closes her eyes, fighting hard to stay composed but giving in after a shaky breath. “I’m-I’m sorry….I...you know I didn’t offer you any tea.”

“Catherine, why don’t I help you in the kitchen? It’s no trouble.” Amy shoots Mark a quick look, nodding towards the stairs.  _ Snooping time.  _

He carefully breaks off from the group, sliding away while the conversation fades behind him.

“...I love your sign….”

“Oh, yes, Pachis, that’s my maiden name…”

Robert’s room is the first on his investigation. It’s typically messy, with a small TV and gaming system shoved into the corner amongst the dirty laundry and toys. There’s nothing unusual under the bed, no weird occult thingies or doo-dads. The closet is just as boring, so he continues down the hall.

He passes by an open door, cracked just enough to spot the second Mills child scribbling away at her desk. Curiosity gets the better of him, and she’s spooked easily by his knocking.  “Sorry, didn’t mean to-”

“Who’re you?” She snaps, glaring at him with all the power she can muster in her baby face.

“Officer Warfstache-” he flashes his badge, “-You must be Harper. Mind if I talk to you?”

She shrugs, turning her back to him. 

Mark looks around the room, and while it’s cleaner than Robert’s, the four corners of her room are wallpapered with drawings. Lots of birds, leaves, branches-it’s a regular arboretum. “I like your drawings.”

“Uh-huh”

“Did you see anything weird at the maze, Harper?”

“Weird?”

“Ya know, anything big? Sharp teeth, claws?”

Her face scrunches up with a distasteful shake of her head. “There aren’t any bears around here.”

_ Not quite what I’m looking for, kid.  _ “Well….did you smell anything? Like, rotten eggs?”

“You sound like the church guy”

“I….You know what, why don’t you just tell me what happened?”

“I dunno, it was cold. Lots of trees.” She makes another line on her paper, dark hair dusting her eyes. “Saw deer tracks.”

“Anything else?”

Harper ignores him, drawing silently and giving him the cold shoulder. 

“Alright then.”

He and Amy reconvene in the van, both sharing what little information they had. No satan memorabilia in the house, no weird sights or smells, and no leads. There’s one thing Amy brings up when it’s quiet, and it has him wanting to be swallowed up by the Earth.

“So….the pastor, huh?”

“What?”

“Oh c’mon”

_ “What?” _ She stares at him, a mocking grin spreading wider with each passing second. “Oh-Okay, look, he never said he was a pastor and that is  _ not  _ the name he gave me”

“Did you even get his number?”

Mark squirms in his seat. “Can we drop this already?”

“I don’t know if I can”

“God-” He stops paging through her notes, his brain making a connection from the conversation with the kid, “-Maybe we should check into him”

“Oh?”

“Screw you. No, look, I think he’s involved”

“Aw, you miss him?”

“No-”

She purses her lips. “That’s sweet. But, we’ve got a thing to hunt, you can worry about your boyfriend later.”

“Not like Robbie and Frank are gettin’ any deader”

“Yeah,” she mumbles. “But who knows who’s next.”

* * *

There’s a police car waiting outside the maze entrance, with yellow caution tape stretched across the entrance. It’s enough to ward them off for now, but they make plans to circle back. Back at the motel, Mark ticks off everything the monster couldn’t be, while also wearing down Amy’s patience. He’s skilled like that.

“Could be a vamp-”

“Nah, death’s are seasonal”

“Or a ghost-”

“Wasn't cold enough, I talked to the kid”

“And you’re sure she didn’t mention anything important?”

He raises an arm, and lets it flop dramatically down onto the bed. “Oh, well, she told me it was cold.”  There’s an audible huff, and he swears he can hear her eyes roll. “Maybe we can look into the owner, Jonny….uh….”

“Dougenis. And that sounds like a good idea, looks like he lives near the maze.”

Mark groans, lifting himself up and mentally rallying. His suit chafes in the worst places. “Let’s go pay ol’ Jonny a visit.”

* * *

It’s not a bad little place. There’s a semblance of ‘I tried’, but it’s not enough to save the home. Half dead flowers exist in the cracked pots on the steps, little green blooms still holding on in the thick atmosphere. The doormat crunches under his feet, his turn to knock.

The owner of the home has a subtle optimism about him, making his age seem less apparent. As if he still sees the bright light at the end of the tunnel, like his house. They'll probably extinguish it.

“Mr. Dougenis?”

“Yes?”

They wind up at an old dining table, cluttered with mechanical parts and forgotten notes with handwriting pre-dating Jonny himself. Mark lets his drink sit idly, as he finds himself questioning the state of the coffee pot. 

He asks him about the disappearances, and there’s genuine sadness in the older man. His head droops, a weight shifting down on his shoulders. “Police have been through there before,” he mutters, scratching absentmindedly at the scruff on his cheeks. “I keep maps of the place, but...you know, I’m an old man….and…”

“And?” Amy presses, eyes digging into his consciousness as she leans in.

“You’ll think I’m crazy”

_ And there it is.  _ Those four, damning words that kickstart any good case. Crazy’s their business, and they’ve found another client.

“Try us,” Mark says, growing invested in the conversation.

“I….I keep maps of the place, my own great-grandfather built the maze with his own hands, it’s family property. But, I go through there sometimes, and...and there’s parts I ain’t ever seen. Paths that don’t make any sense.”

He jabs a finger towards a map overtaking his living room, the paper edges ever growing and folding, its veins made from ink and pencil that curve and dart in nonsensical paths. “I don’t know if it’s possible, trees don’t grow like that and I make the paths myself, but...just  _ look.  _ All over the property, and it  _ changes.  _ I just….I’m losing my mind.”

“You’re not.” She assures him, just enough to keep him talking. “Jonny, have you ever seen anything in there?” Amy’s moving forwards, but Mark’s got some hang-ups about the present details.

“Why do you keep it open then?”

“I need the money,” he laments, toying with a fork in his hands. “I’m an old man, it’s all I’ve got-”

“People are dead, Jonny.” There’s more. There’s always more. Underneath the simple facade of a financially troubled senior is the same thing they’ve seen in every case.  _ Fear.  _

His hand clenches around his fork, strangling it. “If it’s closed too long, I see it in my windows”

Mark eyes his partner, slowly turning back to the man. “See what?”

“I don’t know. I swear to God I don’t know, but it’s big. And it’s fucking creepy.” His throat tenses, and he holds a fist to his mouth. Pale eyes stare down into the table, shaking in their sockets and glistening in the low light. “I know it’ll come for me one of these days, I know it.”

* * *

Mark can’t get out of the house fast enough. He speed walks to the van, Amy catching up behind him. “I don’t know what we’re dealing with, but it’s gotta go.”

“I don’t know either. Maybe silver?”

“Could be a stake.”

Amy holds an arm against the van, leaning against it with a heavy pause. “This is a weird one.”

“They’re all weird.” Mark climbs into the driver's seat, mentally listing all the weapons he’s got in the back. One of them has to work. “We just have to know how to kill it.”

“Be nice to know _how_ ”

Eyes closed, and cheek worried between his teeth, Mark tries to force an answer through his caveman brain. “Uh….could be a...deity? I don’t know,” he huffs, working his hands around the steering wheel. “What do we even know anymore?”

“Well, from what Dougenis said-”

“What kinda name is ‘Dougenis’ anyways?” 

“It’s Greek, Mark,” she says like it’s obvious, flipping through her notes. “A lot of immigrants here were Greek, back in the day. It’s like, 80% of the town. Do you think it means anything?”

“‘Bout as much as ‘deer tracks’”

“Deer tracks?”

“Yeah, weird Mills kid. Probably traps small animals and does experiments on them-”

“Deer tracks,” she whispers.

“Wha-? Yeah, that’s what I said-”

“Mark.” She’s tapping her foot, like she does when she’s excited. Like a golden retriever with a fresh catch.

“What?” 

She ticks the items off her fingers. “Greece-” One finger, “-Maze-” Another finger, “-Hooves.” One last finger points up, and something electric clicks in his brain. He feels like he might go flying from his seat, and there’s a horrifying realization that excites him all the same.

“Holy  _ shit.” _

  
  



	3. 'Heat Seeker' - DREAMERS & Grandson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Into the maze they go, what they'll find, nobody knows!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had a lovely thanksgiving, and will hopefully make it through finals

He’s not even thinking anymore. 

It’s just straight pedal-to-the-floor mindless babbling as he drives.

“No way, nuh-uh, I can’t even believe-”

“Mark-”

“Are we-I mean….Can it….God, I wanna see this thing-”

“Mark-”

“How the hell is this-”

“MARK!”

“Huh?"

“Pull over!”

Complying, he slides the van into the gravel, trying to remember what it feels like to breathe automatically. He hasn’t been this excited about a case since the ghost farmer in Kansas. Brain racing, heart pounding, this is the shit he lives for. But, Amy is there to bring him back down. The voice of reason in their partnership. 

“Mark,” she says slowly, “Let's think this through first, alright?”

“But...but-”

“We need to know how to kill it first, we can’t just run in blind”

He waves a hand to the homemade gun rack mounted to the side of the van. “But it’s a-”

“Research first. Then we can kill.”

With a discontented grumble, Mark shoots a U-turn back to the motel.  He’s exorcised ghosts, desecrated graves, and shot through the skulls of a dozen freaks. He’s a hands-on kinda guy, not a ‘research’ guy. That’s Amy’s specialty. Guns solve about 80% of his problems anyways, not  _ research.  _

And, from his readings, Theseus was the same way. “Says here he beat it to death with a club, or a sword.” He ponders quietly for a moment. “Do we have a sword?”

That’s a resounding  _ no,  _ but it does bring up the fact that he should get a sword. A good one, not one of those ‘cosplay’ ones. “How does a thing like that even end up here?”

“One of the sailors from Greece probably brought it somehow.” Amy’s phone lights up, and she’s already throwing on her jacket while reading through the messages. “Got a photo of the map from Jonny, let’s go.”

“Yes!”

* * *

Their headlights gloss over another vehicle, a crappy little mini cooper taking up the majority of the entrance space. Mark glances at it vaguely, only because it’s taking up the prime parking spot. It strikes a familiar chord with him, but he could have seen it around town.

“Who do you think that is?” She’s looking at him with mild concern, but he doesn’t share in the worry.

“No idea,” he mutters, rifling through the back for his gun. As long as they’re not the freak, their guest should be fine.  _ Probably maintenance,  _ he muses, loading up his Remington. The same one he’d stolen off a highway patroller in California.  _ Good times. _

He and Amy both squirrel away ammo in various pockets, tucking away flashlights and approaching the entrance with caution.

The faded red sign looms with false cheeriness, and with the generator running overnight, it’s almost inviting. But in the minimalist chorus of crickets and woodland fauna, something lurks in the silence. 

“How big do you think it is?” Amy whispers, despite the quiet fog around them.

“Well, mom did...you know...with a bull. So, probably pretty big.”

She nods, an ill grimace crossing her face despite the steady forward march deeper into the maze. Gravel twists under their feet, muffled by the water-rich dirt but giving away their position all the same.

They make it to the concessions area, where paths split off into the main attraction. Two of which have posts still illuminating the dirt trails, and they consider their options. Really, it’s a subtle way of trying to figure out with one is the better one to take, and who'll be drawing the short stick. 

It’s easy to stop dragging their feet when a scream echoes through the maze. 

Neither bid any ‘good luck’ partings, both know it’d be useless. Or a jinx. Mark stalks down between the evergreens, thick and full in the moisture-rich air. To him, it’s suffocating. The light plays off the fog filling his lungs, and glitters on the trees that crowd him. He distracts himself by looking at the map, zooming in to his general area. 

_ Right _

_ Left _

_ Left _

_ Right _

Each turn should loop him back to concessions, and he’s got all night to scour the maze. Not like he was going to sleep anyways. 

There used to be a time when he could sleep just about anywhere. Early on, when his cases were all stubborn spirits and false claims, he could achieve the mythical eight hour REM sequence that hunters couldn’t even dream about. That was years ago. Before many, many, cases that would have sent a lesser man to an asylum.

_ Goddammit. Focus.  _

The only strange noises he’s heard so far are the weird  _ squelch  _ of his shoes in the mud. Nothing that would so far indicate the big game he’s after. As he checks the map again, squinting at the overly bright screen in the darkness, he walks into a tree.

Not directly into the trunk, but just enough to get a mouthful of evergreen leaves and dew in his mouth. He splutters and spits into the dirt, trying to wipe watered down sap from his eyebrows in vain, while confusion grows quick and heavy like the tree.

From the map, he’s on a straight path till he reaches a resting bench and light post. But where he’s standing, it’s a clear cut ‘T’ in the road. He didn’t take a wrong turn, he’s been vigilant about trail marks

_ So Jonny’s not entirely senile. _ He mulls over his options with eyebrows raised and lips pursed. Neither path stick out to him, so he goes with a reliable right turn. He makes a mental note to keep track of where he's been, although if things are really changing around him, he might have to rely on his trusty navigating skills. In which he’s pretty sure the moon rises in the East.

_ That would make North...uh...shit.  _ Amy’s the one with the compass. A useless compass! God knows he’d actually find himself needing one. He huffs under his breath, and when the noise fades from his ears, he swears he heard an echo. 

Not an exact echo, more like someone was copying him.  _ Could be our guest,  _ he thinks, but the eyes he feels on his back don’t give him a real ‘human’ vibe. “Heeere monster, monster, monster.”

He marches forwards, nearing a right turn and listening intently. “Heeere monster, monster-AH FUCK!”

A wooden ghost prop on a spring-loaded stick pops out at him. There’s a tinny “Boo!” sound effect that crackles and sputters when he grabs the ghost and rips the prop from the trees. He snaps it over his knee, and chucks it into the foliage with a bitter curse.

It didn’t  _ scare  _ him. He just... hates stupid props. 

He’s glad Amy’s not here, though.

Stomping ahead, he tries to clear his head as he passes round the curve. There’s light peeking around the trees, that’s not a bad sign.

He should have known better.

Standing around nine feet tall, it looms at the end of the path. The shadow casts over him, and as he slowly drags his eyes up the hulking body, there’s only one word on his breath. 

_ “Minotaur.” _

Disheveled hair hangs in its eyes, staring him down while letting hot puffs of steam drift into the chilled air. It’s got human hands, dripping with something dark, with bull legs as thick as tree trunks and a loincloth thankfully providing some form of modesty.

Although, that’s becoming less of a worry given the way it’s charging at him. 

Mark jumps to the side, squeezing by the charging figure and nearly being clobbered. He falls into the trees, trying to push through and cursing when he can’t. 

Stumbling back onto the path, he locks eyes with the confused beast as it whirls around and charges back at him. He barely has time to raise his gun before it leaps.

Massive hands pin him to the ground. It looms over him, bombarding him with its disgusting breath from its snout. If it wasn't crushing his chest, he’d let the damn thing know  _ exactly  _ what it smelled like.

He wheezes out a pained grunt as the thing increases the pressure on him, leaning down to run a horrifically slimy tongue up his face. His heels kick up the gravel, every attempt to fight negated by the giant fucking thing.

“HEY!”

Mark tries to crane his head towards the sound, only seeing the shadow of the voice.

“FUCK YOU!”

A bullet whizzes close enough to feel the heat, and the beast roars when it connects with its shoulder. It falls back, long enough for the stranger to grab his arm and pull him up. He scrambles to his feet, feeling his bones shift into strange positions as he forces himself to run blindly deeper into the maze. 

“Come on!” Shouts the stranger, his voice reaching the familiar corners of Mark’s brain. The fluorescent light washes over him, over the cuts glistening on his face, the ruffled brown hair, the high cheekbones.  _ What the shit!? _

Ethan looks back past him, back at the monster already rising. His pupils stand out as black pinpricks amongst a fearful sea of hazel and blue. There’s a gun swinging on a strap with his steps, dragging Mark along wildly. 

They skid around a corner, with Ethan hustling him into the foliage and pulling him down onto his knees. 

“What the fuck-!?”

“Shhh!” Ethan hisses, clamping a sweaty hand over his mouth. Thunderous footsteps rumble by, with the ragged snorts of the beast huffing along. “Okay,” he rasps, “I think-”

“What the fuck are you doing here!?” Mark’s as hysterically loud as someone can be when trying to hide from a  _ goddamn minotaur,  _ but he’s doing his best to remain calm.

He runs a nervous hand through his hair, stammering as he speaks. “Okay...uh, so, um...I hunt stuff like this, and, uh, ghosts are real and uh-”

“I KNOW!” Mark smacks his hand away, lowering his tone to a growl. “That’s  _ my  _ job! Who the hell are you!?”

“Uh….a hunter. You?”

He’s so unbelievably clueless, Mark wonders if he’s been dead already and this is his hell. “A hunter,” he says, dumbfounded. "And...and you're not a pastor?"

"What? No, I got that shirt at a Goodwill. I, uh...you're not a fed, are you?"

"Nah"

"So no backup?"

"Just my friend"

“Shit.” Ethan falls back on his heels, planting his ass in the dirt and blowing a short huff through his nose. He shares the same feeling. He’s got pine needles in every crevice, and minotaur spit tracked up into his sideburns. There’s a low groan as he readjusts, his bones grating against each other in a bad way. 

He stares up at Ethan, his shirt sticking to his skin from the drying sweat. In the darkness, he looks years younger. Just a kid, running around and fighting things. “How long you been out here?”

“Since sunset.” There’s shame in his voice, paired with the exhaustion that drags his eyes down. “I got lost.”

“Yeah, I see that”

Ethan gives him a sour look, grimacing as he repostitions. “Yeah, well, you don’t….so...uh….you’re lost too!”

“No shit.” He pats his side, feeling around his jacket. “Goddammit.”

“What?”

“We have to go back for my gun”

He barks out a laugh. “Yeah, nuh-uh”

“Wha-? Yuh-huh! How the hell do you think we’re gonna kill that thing?”

“This!” Ethan waves his own rifle around, and Mark has to shove the barrel away from his head. “We just gotta-”

“How many rounds you got left?”

“Uh…-” He checks the gun, “-Nine”

“And how many times have you actually shot that thing?”

Ethan ducks his head down, rubbing the back of his neck and mumbling. “Once”

_ “Once?” _

“It’s so fast!” Ethan suddenly clamps his mouth shut and holds the gun to his chest. Snotty huffs and slow hoof steps sound off from an unnervingly close distance. “We gotta move,” he hisses, “It can  _ smell _ me.”

“Gimme me the gun-”

“No-!”

“Yes!” Mark imitates his whiny tone and snags it from his hands, ignoring the quiet protests. “If anyone is gonna get a shot at that thing, it’s me.”


	4. 'Skin and Bones' - Cage The Elephant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How will our heroes make it out of this one alive? Will they reach the end of the maze? Or their own end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major apologies for the wait! Wanted to have this done a week ago, but.....life in general, am I right? I am back to work now over break, and I do get to share some more cuties with you guys. Say hi to Raven! A brave lil lady with the longest whiskers and sweetest attitude.  
> https://drive.google.com/file/d/1I6ZaoNusU-SllWCszu7LR6ZhSB0ju_Ei/view?usp=sharing

When the coast is clear, and he can finally get Ethan to shut up, they dare to leave their foxhole. He leads the way, with his new ‘comrad’ tagging alongside him, albeit a couple steps behind. The current path takes a sharp left, and as they approach the curve, the bulb tucked into the lamp posts sparks and dies. 

“Alright,” Mark says cynically, “I trust this, yeah.”

Ethan nods along mumbling something under his breath and rubbing his hands up his arms to stave off the chill. The more time that passes, the greater the temperature drop. And if Mark were nicer, he’d offer him his jacket. 

“This sucks dick,” Ethan whines bitterly.

“There’s your problem, you’re not supposed to suck dick you’re supposed to be hunting”

“I’ll suck your dick.”

He tries to bite back a smile, but when he hears the little snort from Ethan he ducks his head down and chuckles. Another little thing why he may actually not be completely annoyed with him. And God if that isn’t a dangerous feeling. 

Mark’s seen the hunters that pair up, and he hates the idea of pretending like anything like that could work. In reality, it’s just two bastards in the world’s unluckiest profession guaranteeing to leave someone behind. Amy's different. She's basically family, and he knows for a fact she can hold her own. Ethan? He's out wandering by himself, fighting a beast in a t-shirt and jeans.

As soon as they kill this thing, Mark’s killing all contact.

He swings sharply when Ethan yelps, ending up pointing the barrel of his gun at a statue. It’s creepy, sure, but not all that scary. He gives him shit for being scared, and watches him march ahead with a little huff. 

The grin on his face drops down when Mark swears he sees the statue’s eyes glow red. He pointedly taps its nose with the tip of the rifle. “Don’t look at me, statue man,” he warns, stepping backwards after Ethan while keeping his glare on the statue.

Ethan’s stopped at another stone bench, one of many that strangely populate the odd corners of the maze. He’s not interested in the bench, rather, whatever’s in his hands.

“Hey!” He calls out, jogging forwards. “Whatcha got-Oh.”

It’s a skull.

Too small to belong to an adult.

Ethan’s cradling it like a small bird, his bottom lip pushing out as he stares into the eye sockets. “Someone took all the teeth,” he murmurs sadly, turning the skull around in his hands to show Mark.

“Yup.” He tries to think of something to say, a final goodbye, a prayer, anything but the awkward silence. “Ah… hey, we’re fine.”

Never one to dwell on the negative, he tries to push him along. Comfort has never been one of his strong suits, but he gives Ethan a couple pats as they move along, with Ethan leaving the remains where they were.

Now Mark’s starting to feel the chill. The gravel sounds like crunching ice under their feet, giving away the exact points of their position. It’s a delicate situation, ‘most dangerous game’ style, and he’d rather not let the giant fucking Minotaur know where they are. 

Soon enough, Ethan’s teeth are rattling. He’s warned to knock it off, and warned again when his whiny “I’m  _ sorry  _ Mark!” becomes a little too loud. 

That, of course, leads into an ever loudening bout of bickering. They’re professionals, after all.

Every  _ single  _ time Mark tells him to shut up, there’s another little nonsense comment. No matter how many times he reminds him that they are being  _ actively hunted,  _ he just has to have the absolute last word and wave his arms around.  With both hands on his scrawny chest, Mark shoves him into a tree. He stumbles back, looking alarmed but finally shutting up. 

He takes in a deep breath, trying to reorganize his thoughts and tuck away the ones that urge him to put a needless fist to Ethan’s nose. 

That’s when they hear it.

A slow rumble in the night, gaining traction and volume.

Ethan’s fear is painted on his ghostly white face. “Is that some kind of airplane?”

“I don’t think that’s an airplane…”

“What is that?” He hisses, arms freezing at his side.

The noise turns into an audible growl, and they stumble apart to try and locate the sound. Mark primes the rifle, pacing backwards and listening carefully.  _ Where are you?  _

Growing louder, shaking the ground around them, it approaches from a direction Mark has yet to place. Soon, his own heavy breath is drowned out in the noise.

_ Crash _

_ Crash! _

_ CRASH! _

Splitting apart two solid evergreens, the minotaur skids in the gravel between them, massive chest heaving and blowing thick steam into the air. With a disgustingly wet snort, it spots Ethan with a slow turn of its snout.

Charging him before Mark can think, his gun is only halfway up before he watches in horror as it takes a vicious swipe at Ethan. 

“No-!” 

He exhales slowly as time stops around him. 

He watches the arm swing towards him, and he knows Ethan’s about to have his ribs destroyed. Ethan’s not even running, just ducking down like  _ that’ll _ save him. 

Except he doesn’t stay down. He launches off his feet, arms swinging backwards and momentum carrying him over the fist in a tight backflip that has him landing on quick feet that narrowly avoid the next swing as he dodges sharply to the left. 

His feet slide and catch in the gravel before he’s able to push off and run in the opposite direction. Mark’s brain finally clicks, and while the beast is stomping after him, he fires a shot into its shoulder blade. Taking off before he can become the next set of bones, he darts around a few random corners before smacking into Ethan.

Literally.

He clutches his nose, giving him an annoyed, but relieved look. “Jesus!” He looks him up and down, then scans the area for their new ‘friend’. “What was that?!”

“What was wha-?” Ethan’s panting between each word, squinting up at him in the low light.

“All the flips n’ shit!”

“Wha? Oh.” He waves a hand dismissively. “I… _ *huff*  _ used to do gymnast stuff. Listen-” he lowers his voice, a manic wildness in his eyes, “-We gotta get the fuck outta here.”

“What the hell do you think we’ve been doing?!”

Mark’s complaints fall on otherwise-occupied ears. Ethan’s already babbling on about the thick trees, waving his hands around and pacing about like a lunatic. And Mark is stuck with him.

Not even the loud roar can shut him up. To stop himself from punching the nearest inanimate object, he grabs Ethan by the shoulders and gives him a light shaking because  _ dammit! There is no time to panic right now! _

“The trees!” Ethan splutters, grabbing onto his forearms.

“I know about the trees! Just shut-”

“We gotta go up!”

“What are you  _ saying?!” _

“If we get high enough, we can see over the trees-”

There’s another roar, and with his eyes locked into Ethan’s, they both share a similarly terrible idea.

* * *

Mark’s going to need fucking spinal surgery after this as he hauls ass through the maze with Ethan on his shoulders. He’s got his hands clamped on his thighs, fingers digging in for grip, but even then he’s bouncing all over the place. 

It doesn’t slow him down. Not even a bit. Hunted, weakened, and utterly lost, he gives them about a 17% chance of survival. Ethan’s barely helping, just shouting random directions while they stumble past bones and weird statues and remnants of the evil thing throwing trees just behind them. 

Ethan’s legs squeeze tight around his head, and any other time Mark would be happy to indulge the thoughts that follow those motions, but right now he’s being treated like a workhorse so he falters to stop without pitching either of them. He’s nearly kicked in the dick by the spazz when he climbs down.  Somewhere between the rough breaths, he forms a coherent question that has Ethan grabbing his arm and dragging him along, mumbling  _ “Right, left, left, _ ” all the way. They smash through another ghost prop, and dodge shards of broken glass raining down from the light poles. 

And there it is.

Salvation that appears to them as p icnic tables and an overpriced concession stand decorating the glorious exit. The minotaur is very-much-not-dead and threateningly close, but the two sprint and whoop and cheer all the way to the exit. 

Until Mark dares to look behind him, and  _ fuck  _ did he need to because-

_ “Holy shit!” _

He falls sideways, dragging Ethan down with him. He gets a mouthful of dirt, but the rampaging beast flies past them, two seconds from stomping them both. Head down, it slams two thick horns into the mini cooper, toppling it.

Ethan spits out a few pieces of rock, watching mournfully as the minotaur rams it again to try and remove its horn from the metal. “My  _ car.” _

Down in the dirt, Mark feels every strained muscle and tendon weighing him down and filling his bones with acid. There wasn’t any part of their plan that was actually thought through. 

They're out in the open now.

Exposed.

Dead.

A shot rings out, and while it doesn’t kill the beast, it certainly has their attention. 

Standing on the roof of the van and looking just as disheveled as they, Amy primes her weapon with a deadly glare. She’s unmoved by the ear-splitting roar, raising the barrel and aiming in the night.

They stare each other down, Mark watching in shock. The night exhales around them, wisps of breath running across the ground and daring to interrupt the battle. 

With a mighty huff, it picks up speed towards her. Hooves tearing into the dirt, muscles rippling in the moonlight, charging her without a second thought.

Clear in her sightline, she sends a quick-timed shot straight between its wild eyes.

It falls instantly, the momentum and gravity sliding it forwards and coming to rest just before the van like a present all wrapped up in blood. 

She hops down with ease, approaching them with a weary smile. Mark’s quick to his feet, never one to be overshadowed. But, she’s going to lord this over him for a while. Right now, however, he’s just happy not to be dead. 

“How’d you get out?” He asks breathlessly, not-so-subtly checking for any injuries.

“My emergency snack!” There’s an empty bag of pretzel sticks shown proudly to him, and he forces a smile despite the exhaustion. “Made a trail. Not bad, huh?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Not bad.”

“Uh…-” Ethan interjects himself back into the present.

Mark fumbles for words for a second, waving a hand between the two of them. “Oh, uh, Amy, this is Ethan. And Ethan this is, uh, Amy...she’s, uh-”

“Family. Hi.” She extends a hand, and Ethan shakes it with a wince. 

“He’s a hunter,” Mark explains, letting the subtle tone of ‘ _ I told you he wasn’t who he said he was’  _ speak loudly. 

She nods, a teasing smile growing wide. “Well, thanks for saving him Ethan”

“Anytime”

“Also...I think your fingers might be broken”

“Listen, man, I got thrown around there a whole helluva lot. Pretty much everything’s broken.”

Mark scoffs. “Well screw your body. What’re we gonna do about  _ that  _ thing?”

As they all turn towards the hulking corpse, weighing more than them  _ and  _ the van combined, it’s the chill of the night that brings forth a terrible, and yet great idea.

* * *

Mark’s splashing the last of the extra gasoline onto the bonfire while Amy wraps duct tape around Ethan’s hand through the open sliding door of the van. They’re quiet enough that he can’t hear them over the roar of the flames, but she’s smiling. That’s a good sign. And yet…

“So!” He claps his hands together, the universal signal for ‘Let’s get this shitshow on the road’. “Uh, Ethan, can we give you a ride home?”

“I...um…” He ducks his head down, rubbing the back of his neck with his good hand. “I was actually living in my car.”

They all turn to gaze upon the glorious wreckage of what used to look like a car and now resembled an expensive art piece. In the awkward silence, no one volunteers an idea. It’s cold, dark, and now a bit more sad.  Mark’s never considered himself a softie. That’s a fact. And in the moment, watching the kid’s face fall, and how he cradles his busted hand, he’d never admit to giving in. He….introduced an idea. That’s all.

“How about we go get breakfast? My treat.” The idea makes them aware of them time, just past five in the morning, and Amy pipes up about a 24hour diner down the street from the courthouse. The burned calories of the evening are catching up to them, as well as the surprisingly delicious smell of Minotaur meat. 

It’s the best idea they’ve got, and while the remnants sizzle and singe behind them, it’s officially someone else’s problem.

  
  



	5. 'Behind The Sea' - Panic! At The Disco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions decisions...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had a lovely Christmas! Soon the New year will be here, and we can all chuck this year into the garbage fire where it belongs!  
> (Also! For those who followed Mallorie's story from the in-between chapters of 'Catch & Release', she's doing well and is still a major brat, haha  
> https://drive.google.com/file/d/10IVNrRMLDtAzvK1t5FjCH-qpxt6ptYVj/view?usp=sharing)

In a forgetably small town, in an unremarkable restaurant, Mark has one of the best mornings he can remember having in a long time. The food sucks (it  _ always  _ sucks in the 24 hour places), and the seats are weirdly greasy, but  _ god,  _ he’s smiling genuinely for once.

It hurts, as does everything after spending a night running amok with a Greek nightmare, and he almost doesn’t care. Ethan’s got his mouth running off stupid jokes left and right intermingled with his story. 

Every hunter carries one. Their ‘origin story’. Like superheroes, but sadder.

He jokes about Benjamin Franklin and ketchup.

Mark finds out he’s from Maine, and has gone lobstering.

He makes up a silly song about the tasteless coffee.

Mark finds out he’s been on his own for a year, give or take. Right after he lost his family. There’s no further detail, and neither hunter asks. You just don’t go down that rabbit hole. 

It’s when they’re given their third coffee refill, and a dirty look from the waitress that the time becomes apparent. Noon is fast approaching, as is the impending fatigue-induced hallucinations. Ethan offers to chip in for the bill, and Mark is quick to decline. He helped him dig through the scrap metal for his belongings, he figures the kid could use a break.

There’s a group of locals whispering urgently in the parking lot, and Mark takes an educated guess that the remains have been found already.  It’s time to get lost.

Amy beats him to it. 

“You want a ride out of state?” She asks softly, shoving her hands deep in the pockets of her jacket. There’s a look on her face that radiates kindness and generosity, and it makes Mark awfully nervous. 

But when Ethan nods wearily, his eyes weighed down and smile weak, Mark can’t stop him from climbing in the back.  _ He’s just a hitchhiker,  _ he thinks.  _ One stop and he’s gone. _

* * *

Music he’s never heard of plays to the slow pace of his own heartbeat as they move along. Trees pass, shades of green blur the edges of old roads and hills that move with them like the tide.  Headed West, Mark’s up for the first shift of driving. He’s still got a lot to think about. 

Amy’s curled up in the passenger seat, shifted on her side so that she faces the window. The sun isn’t quite at its obnoxiously brightest, and it wraps around her in a light blanket. The seat doesn’t sit back far enough for a proper bed, but they’ve both grown used to sleeping in the bucket seats over the years.  Ethan’s got the back to himself, using his bag as a pillow as he enjoys the secluded darkness of the rear of the Barrel where he can stretch out. With every pothole and accidental brake-check, Mark's eyes flick to the rear-view mirror, but Ethan’s on a whole other plane of consciousness. 

He looks so soft and comfortable with his jacket tucked around his shoulders as a makeshift blanket. Mark almost wishes he could join him.

Groaning, he runs a hand over his jaw. He tries to focus on the road, and yet he’s still all over the place. A headache brews like strong coffee in his brain, and despite all the little things he can blame it on, the taunt knot of mental frustration is too big to ignore. 

This would be so much easier if the kid was an asshole.  _ Why can’t he have a face tattoo? Or hate dogs? _

He’s already annoying! What with how he talks constantly, and is just  _ always  _ putting his spindle fingers on him like they’re all buddy-buddy, and is in his bubble way too much. 

They did fuck, though, that still happened. 

Mark wouldn’t mind if it happened again. 

_ Gah! Dammit!  _ He swerves back into his lane, forcing himself to look at the logistics of it all.  One more person meant another mouth to feed. One more person meant more ammo to supply with. It meant more...more to lose.

The erratic driving has Amy somewhat awake now. She rubs at the sleep wearing into the skin under her eyes, noticing the pissy look he has. 

“Need me to take over?” She mumbles, blinking out at the afternoon sun.

“Nah.” The blinker clicks on, and he moves towards the exit. “There’s a rest stop up here.”

“Oh, good.” Pausing, she looks at him with caution. “Want me to wake Ethan?”

“Not yet.”

They convene at one of the forgotten park benches scattered around the lot. Amy plays with a leaf, shredding it into little pieces while she speaks. “He could stay, wouldn’t be that hard.”

“But we don’t  _ know  _ him”

She shrugs. “You didn’t know me at first”

“Well….I-Well-” he scoffs, “-You’re different.”

“How’s that?”

“Your situation. There. That’s what was different.” He stands, stretching out his back and talking as he does. “Can you honestly say the same for him?”

“Don’t put me on the spot like that! It’s personal. And c’mon-” Amy motions towards the van, “-He doesn’t have anywhere to go.”

“So do  _ basically  _ all hunters!”

With an exaggerated shrug, she holds it for emphasis while speaking seriously. “Look, I’m fine if he stays. It’s just up to you.”

_ “And  _ him,” he says pointedly, stalking off towards the van. A couple good smacks to the side have him semi-awake as Mark pulls open the door. 

He gives him no time to get adjusted, bouncing the question off him like a dodgeball to the face. 

“Do you wanna hunt with us?”

“DoIwannawha-?”

Mark sighs, tipping his head back with the force of it. “Do  _ you- _ ” he jabs a finger at him, “-want to  _ hunt  _ with  _ us-”  _ he waves a finger back and forth between himself and Amy. The realization grows slowly, slowly enough that it whittles away at Mark’s patience even further, and then Ethan’s stammering finishes it off.

“Wha-I mean, that’s-that’s really nice of you guys but you know, I wouldn’t, uh, I wouldn’t wanna, you know-”

“Okay!” He cuts in, forcing a smile,  _ Jesus, for once in your life, finish a sentence! _ “Okay, breathe. Focus. Yes or no?”

“I mean-”

_ “Yes.  _ Or  _ no?” _

The way he looks up has Ethan staring at him with a strange vulnerability. Unsure, alone, scared. Just like everyone else. But it warms his chest with some weird, bullshit instinct and he has to look away. 

“If you guys are okay with it,” he murmurs, toying with the laces on his shoe. 

_ “I  _ think it’ll be fun.” Amy throws a pointed look at Mark, and he tightens his mouth into a thin line.

“Same here. We’d do better as a group.”

He runs a hand through his hair, fluffing it up with nervous fingers. “Yeah, sure.” It’s not a concrete agreement, but it’s a start. “So, um, where’re we headed?”

“Ohio!” Mark claps his hands together. “Land of, uh….fuck it, yeah, Ohio.”

“And-” Amy butts in, “-We’re stopping in Vermont for maple syrup, because pancakes are amazing.”

“They are!” And Ethan’s back to full energy. 

Amy takes a turn at the wheel, and while Mark tries to rest in the passenger seat, she and Ethan take turns sharing hunting stories and a general love for syrup. At an unreasonable level of volume, and high pitched voices. 

“I’ve got ten more hours of this shit,” he says, massaging his temples. Amy laughs at something, a little giggle from the back of her throat. 

It sounds weird to him at first, and there’s something in the weirdness that almost makes him feel guilty. He hasn’t heard that sound in a while. 

She’d smile at something he’s said in the past, make jokes. But it’s the little things that slipped through the cracks that lighten his mood a little bit and make him see what’s been lost. 

Considering everything that’s happened, he’s not opposed to it. He won’t allow himself any hope just yet, God knows he’s screwed himself over with that.

But in the van, driving across the country and not trying to escape something for once, he allows himself to fall into the exhaustion without a fight. Just this once.


	6. 'Starting Over' - Chris Stapleton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Off to Ohio, the land of corn! Or is that Idaho? Or Iowa? Or basically any state in the Midwest?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Now back to our not-so-regularly scheduled program

In the backwoods bordering the thriving town of Rentonsville, Ohio, a young woman hikes uphill with an overeager lab kicking up mustard plants and other greenery beside her. She huffs, readjusting the straps on her bag as she continues to climb. The uneven ground twists under her feet, undeterred all the same. The old buildings and occasional silos are well behind her, lurking under the horizon.

“Keep your eyes peeled, bud,” she reminds the dog, and it falls on deaf ears as he puts his snout to the dirt. He walks for a few paces before bounding off and out of sight. Typical. With a groan, his owner trudges off the trail and after the distractible pooch. She kicks up fresh earth, still damp from the morning drizzle, and follows the tracks. 

“Hoss!” She shouts, growing more irritated. “Hoss, get back here!” 

From between a few pricker bushes, the brown lump of energy and slobber reappears, treasure in mouth. He’s rewarded with a few ear scratches as she procures the object. 

It’s a small bone, no longer than her middle finger. 

“Ooo,” she says, admiring the object. The environment has weathered it down, but the brittle aspects are promising. “Probably a deer. Good job buddy, good job!”

Later, while Hoss sleeps at her feet, her calloused hands grind up the bone with a mortar and pestle that’s aged considerably. Mixed with a little water, the paste is applied to a canvas propped up to face her. She dabs the material onto the painted surface, adding a dingy white to the middle and slowly creating shadows to the pre-existing object. The shadows dance around the studio as a goodbye gesture from the fading sun.

Her headphones shift with her head as she examines the project. “Good contrast,” she murmurs, oblivious to the flicker of the lamp sitting in the corner. 

The paint is applied in miniscule strokes, carefully dabbed on in specific quantities. 

She adds more to the bottom corners of the canvas, mouthing along to the words of the music. Materializing behind her, the shaky figure of a man comes to form. He flickers in and out of existence, an ugly sneer worn on his face as he raises a ghostly white arm towards her. 

Hoss barks, the fur along his back raising upwards with his body as he jumps up. The artist twists sharply in her seat, scanning the empty room before mumbling something about obedience classes. The painting captures her attention again, but the dog remains vigil, staring into the dead space of the studio.

* * *

“But how can you be _sure?”_

This is the third time Ethan’s repeated the question, and if Mark weren’t driving, he’d strangle him. Amy’s also in the passenger seat, but she’d probably let him for a minute or two. Well, probably not. But as long as he’s living out fake scenarios, he can dream.

“Fuck you, dinosaur ghosts don’t exist”

“But how-”

“Oh my God, they are not real!”

“But people ghosts are real!”

“They’re just called ghosts.” He huffs a short breath from his nose, wondering again how’d he gotten sucked into this. “Amy, c’mon, I mean, you’re with me right?”  
She shrugs, still tapping away in the passenger seat. “It’s all a bunch of garbo.”

“See!?”

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Ethan flops against the passenger seat, using it to rest his head while he looks at Mark. “You don’t even believe, like, just a little?”

Mark refuses to answer, and only shakes his head. There’s a tight frown reflected off the windshield, and a glare from the sun to worsen his headache. He’s been getting a lot of those recently. 

He can’t complain too much, though. They’ve finally breached the Ohio borders, and it wasn’t a terrible trip so far. He got to tease Ethan when the kid had somehow gotten syrup smeared into his hair, and it turns out they had another person to sing along to ABBA when it came on the radio. However, he could not get him to shut his damn mouth sometimes. 

“Hey!” Amy interrupts excitedly. “I know what’ll cheer you guys up. _I’ve_ got a case.”

Ethan makes an exaggerated _Oooo_ noise, peaking over the seat and shoving himself over the armrest to get a look at her screen. “Whatcha got?”

“I’ve got two, actually. Near here.” She presses a few keys, swapping between online news articles. “There were three almost simultaneous deaths at a nursing home-”

Mark frowns. “Pass.”

“Nursing homes kinda creep me out,” agrees his headache source.

“And they stink.” Mark wags a finger at them both. “Those places are already full of ghosts. And old balls.”

“The oldest!” Ethan giggles, resting his head on the edge of the seat. “God, can you imagine like, ghost balls?”

“It’s the stench that’ll kill ya. So, yeah-” Mark turns to Amy, “What else you got?”

He’s eager to move on with the conversation anyways. It’s not the first time so far he’s been able to melt the ice around him and Ethan long enough to partake in some jokes, but he hates the feeling of being exposed. Ethan’s _new._ Like, fresh off the gun range new. He hadn’t even fought his first ghoul yet. 

She hums, scrolling through the bookmarked sites. “I’ve got a student who was electrocuted at a college who says she sees ghosts now.”

They mull it over silently, weighing their options. It’s an obvious choice for Mark, college towns have lots of bars and bars have-

 _Er, shit._ Is he technically... _with_ Ethan now? Like... _with_ him _with_ him? Mark knows from years of television that it’s always a bad idea to sleep with a coworker (roommate? Band member?) and it’s never applied to him until now. Technically, they’ve already slept together, and now he’s now he’s a part of the fucking group. Strange times. 

“Mark?”

He snaps his train of thought back onto the tracks. “Hm?”

“You up for the college one?” Ethan’s looking at him with eyes that catch the sun and reflect a warm light back to him, momentarily catching him off guard.

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds good.”

“Alrighty, let’s do it then!” He’s thoughtful for a moment. “You know, I never even went to college.”

“I did,” Mark says, just clipped enough to add to the conversation without bringing up a discussion on his life. They’re not that close yet.

“Well, _I_ have a degree.” Amy smiles devilishly. “That makes my opinion more valid than yours, right?”

He mocks her with a fake chuckle before snapping back into ‘Disinterested Yet Cool Mark’. “Just type in the directions, would ya?”

“Rentonsville, here we come!”


	7. 'We Are The Ones' - The Orion Experience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favorite trio hit up the town and find a few unexpected surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Sorry for the wait, between 10 hour shifts and moving back to school, things got a little hectic. But hopefully I can make this more regularly scheduled, thank you for your patience, and for your reading

Rentonsville is rather disappointing.

Mark’s still got his hopes up. His diminishing, diminishing, hopes as they pass by sheet metal buildings and shoddy sidewalks. The only life around appears to be shithead teenagers and the squirrel he got shouted at to avoid in the road. “This, uh...This doesn’t look like much of a college town.”

There’s a mumbled answer from his co-pilot as she taps at an invisible nuisance on her phone.  “What was that?”

“Well, you know it’s uh…”

“‘Uh’ what?”

She scratches the back of her head, scrunching up her face. “Community college.”

_ “Community  _ college?!”

“I mean,” she says with a pained smile, “That does technically make it a college town.”

Ethan nods, talking through a mouthful of jerky. “She’s right-”

“She is not  _ right!”  _ Mark wanted  _ actually  _ good pizza, things to  _ do.  _ Not failing middle aged office workers, and shitty twenty-somethings. “You tricked me!”

“I did not!” She huffs, readjusting in her seat and softening her voice. “You just seemed so grossed out with the nursing home, I wanted to give you a good one.”

Focusing his anger out at the road, it flickers quickly. Aren’t all cases disappointing in some way or another? 

_ Beats chasing ghosts and dead ends at a retirement place.  _

“Oh...whatever, alright.” He turns into the motel parking lot, grumbling under his breath. “Better have decent pizza.”

“I’ll ask the front desk,” she says cheekily, hopping out of the car. 

They follow suit, stretching out while Amy acquires a room.  _ Or two. _

_ Shit,  _ Mark thinks,  _ Do we have to pay for two rooms now?  _

He casts an eye over to Ethan, watching him bend backwards to alleviate the stiffness in his vertebrae. It brings his shirt up just enough to give him a glimpse of his hips, the ones Mark still remembers having his hands all over. 

He wouldn’t mind sharing a bed.

_ No! Stop! Don’t make it weird! _

Amy’s back in time to halt his internal crisis with some good-ish news. She’s scored a room with two queens and a pullout. A rare find in motels. 

While they dump their respective items, Mark claiming the bed closest to the door, Amy sets up a workstation in the kitchenette area. Computer, tablet, notebooks, she stakes her claim and spreads out with abandon. 

Ethan just sits around awkwardly, like a forgotten houseplant. 

Mark takes the opportunity to flop down next to him, getting all up in  _ his  _ space for once. “So what’ve we got?” He asks, catching Amy’s attention.

“Dakota Barber, nineteen, admitted to…-” She checks her notes, “-Dursling memorial after getting fried. Looks like it was an art event, few students had a show going onstage and one of the lights went haywire.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, “Like  _ that  _ happens.”

“So we gotta go to the school.” Ethan hops up, guns blazing with his little ‘revelation’. “We gotta...uh...EMF it and stuff.”

“Well now hang on now-” He motions for him to sit, “-We got a key witness, we gotta-”

“Key  _ victim-” _

“Yeah, that. But, look, do you have, a….you know…” Mark fails to find the word, waving a hand around in the air.

Ethan cocks his head, looking confused. Adorably confused. 

“You know, a...uh…”

Raising an eyebrow, Amy flashes her ‘FBI’ badge. They cost a pretty penny, and the falling look on the younger man’s face is predictable. 

“Looks like you’re staying behind.”  _ Thank God.  _ He stands, and tosses him the remote. “But hey, cartoons, huh?”

“I can help,” he says, clearly affronted. 

Mark doesn’t hide his thoughts he wears on his face. “Yeah...I think we’ll be okay.”

“We do need someone on research,” Amy cuts in. She hands off her laptop, a move with high trust considering the age it’s reached. “That’s  _ always  _ useful.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles. 

Amy shoots Mark a look, the one where she scrunches up her face all disapprovingly. He shrugs it off with his shirt, unpacking his suit.  _ It’s still a case, and he’s still a terrible hunter.  _ When there’s a chance he won’t screw something up, Mark’ll give it to him. 

Till then, he’s benched.

Er, couched.

Whatever.

* * *

At the hospital, a few quick badge flashes and smiles get them up to the second floor. Their victim sits glumly, ignoring the reruns of ‘Jeopardy’ playing on the television and competing with the heart monitor for sound. 

“Dakota Barber?” Mark asks, using his ‘nice’ voice.

“Yea?”  
“I’m Agent Iplier, and this is my partner Agent Stone. We’d like to ask you a few questions about the other night.”

“Oh.” She plays with the cords wrapped over and around her. “That. Yeah.”

“We’d really appreciate it.” Amy steps forwards, speaking softly and, as always, playing good cop. 

“Why do the cops wanna know about it?”

“We’re just making sure everything’s...as it should be.”

Dakota scoffs, sarcasm and self-protection rising in her voice. “It’s about the ghost thing, isn’t it?”

He does his best, he really does. “Wha-? N-no, we, uh...hadn’t heard about...that.”  _ Yikes. _

_ “God!  _ I don’t  _ see  _ ghosts! I told her, I saw, like, what I thought was a ghost in the building. But I got  _ fucking  _ electrocuted! I was out of my mind.”

“Hey-” Amy steps in, holding her notepad like a protective shield of healing. “It’s okay. We’ve heard weirder,” she says with a chuckle. “It’s okay.”  
“Why don’t you tell us about this...vision, you had. Just humor us, huh?”

She sighs, looking down at her hands entangled in the thin sheets. “It...I just, I thought I saw an old man.”

Amy presses gently. “What did he look like?”

“I dunno. Old. He was wearing a jumpsuit, I think. I saw him when I was on ground, and he was….he was up in the rafters, just standing there.” Her fists clench tighter. “Staring at me. God, I sound insane. And I was  _ three  _ seconds away from my award for best in show.  _ Fucking  _ figures.”

“No. It helps, thank you for your time.” Amy steps out, pencil flying across paper as Mark bids the girl a wave goodbye. Not much he can say to make her feel better.

“Ghost for sure.” He speaks up when they’re out of earshot, loitering near the dusty water fountain.

“Mm-hmm. The jumpsuit is interesting, I’ll have to look into the town deaths.”

“Just have Ethan do it”

“I would but-” She snags her phone from her pocket, attending to an unseen message, “He’s at the college.”

_ “What?” _

“Doing ‘research’”

“Research my ass. C’mon - we’re going.” The keys in his hand sink deeper into the skin of his palm. This is  _ his  _ case. And boring or not, he’s not giving it up so easily.

* * *

Storming through the art building, Mark halts his war path for the polished man in the turtleneck with the air of pompousness and teacher-ism. “Hi,” he says sharply, barely containing his anger, “Have you seen a-”

“Hey!” Ethan, looking flustered, appears from a classroom. “Hey….there. Good to see you….Officer.” He forces a smile for both men. “Mr. Allopi, thank you for, uh, having me today-”

“Oh, nonsense!” He grins, waving a hand. “I’m just glad you could still make it. We’ve had some other models drop out after the…. incident.  _ But  _ we’ve got a local electrician coming in a day or so, hopefully we’ll get it sorted.”

“I’ll be going...then.” Ethan skirts around Mark, catching Amy in the building doorway and taking her with him.

“And you are?” 

“Agent Iplier.” Mark realigns himself, straightening his posture and flashing his ‘credentials’. “You were here the night of the electrocution?”

“Yes, but, er, let's talk in my office.” 

The move past the exiting flow of students, and into a cramped room towards the back of the building and just past the auditorium.  _ The crime scene.  _

“I don’t know what happened,” Mr. Allopi mourns over a cup of stale tea. “We had three finalists up on stage, presenting their works for almost the  _ whole  _ town, and suddenly….oh.” He sighs, leaning back in his chair to rub at his temples. “I just don’t know what happened.”

“I see. Maintenance is always an issue. Have there been any cold spots in the building? Flickering lights?”

“Oh, sporadically. Never anything to really complain about. It’s an old building.  _ Old  _ campus, really.”

“The janitor must be pretty busy. Unless he’s...new?”

“Mike? Oh, no. Been here for years. Bout….oh….twelve, I’d say. The last one retired, I believe. Shawn, not so great from what I heard from the other-”

“Yes of course. But, have there been any other deaths on campus?”

_ “Deaths?”  _ He splutters, sending droplets of tea over the many papers on his desk. “N-no, not in some time. Never, I’d hope to say, and I’ve been here quite a few years.”

With a frown and a swallowed huff, Mark politely thanks him for his time.  He stalks off towards the exit, past the students storing their daily drawings. But not past the certain something that catches his eye. 

His friend-and Ethan-have the side door propped open in the heat, lounging in the afternoon and waiting for his inevitable scolding and shouting. 

But it’s not going to come.  He’s $10 poorer, and feeling so much lighter. 

“Hey, Ethan!” He greets him, smiling wide. “You didn’t tell me you were a  _ model.” _

At first he looks embarrassed, and then Mark unrolls the 18x24 inch paper. And then he looks  _ horrified. _

And Mark  _ loves it.  _

He grabs for the paper, Mark holding it above his head. “Where did you get that?!”

“One of the students so  _ graciously  _ sold it to me. Nice, huh? Really captures your-”

“Stop! Oh my God stop!”

“Mark.” Amy steps in, cautiously raising her voice. “What’ve you got there?”

“Just a little-”

_ “No!” _

“-Something.” He tosses her the paper, and relishes the grimace on her face. Scrunched eyebrows as she sucks in breath through her teeth. It’s beautiful. 

“Ethan  _ why?” _

He makes a few whiny attempts at words, scuffing up his heels on the asphalt while pacing around nervously. “I...didn’t have a badge or anything. So, I found the teacher, found his drawing class, and found out a bunch of his models quit-”

“ _ Nude  _ models.”

“Yes! Okay!? But listen-” He points at finger, waving it between the two of them. “I heard a bunch of students say things have been really weird in the building the last week-”

“While you were nude modeling-”

“MARK!” Both of them shout, and neither dissuade the cheshire-cat grin he wears. 

“Hey,” he soothes, “We’ll grab the EMF readers and go check it out, no worries.” Mark shrugs, tossing his jacket into the van and grabbing for his duffel. “And if your modeling schedule frees up, you can join us.”


	8. 'Maybe' - half·alive (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a little hands on investigating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much hope I could get this posted on time...😅

They make a plan to head back to the school after dark, not wanting to arouse suspicion. Until then, the trio makes themselves comfortable in the corner booth of a greasy, unremarkable restaurant. 

Amy busies herself with Ethan’s recollection of the conversations he just so happened to be privy to, and Mark flags down the waitress to ask about their ‘Wild West Burger’.

“I don’t get it.” She clicks through a few different pages, mooching off the free wifi. “All the obits around here are for really old people.”

Mark shrugs, taking a sip of his water. “Nothing suspicious?”

“Nothing at all,” she says with a huff, sitting back in her seat. “It’s really bumming me out.”

“Well, we know it’s a ghost!” Mark dodges a salsa laden chip Ethan waves around. “That’s a start!”

“What about disappearances?”

“Ummm…..um um um… Oh! Three years ago, uh, Carl Presley-” She squints at the screen, tapping the table with her free hand, “-Who ran the auto shop in town, disappeared one night, along with all the cash from the shop and the safe.”

Ethan leans in towards the screen. “What about family? He got any family we can, uh….interrogate? Investigate?”

He throws an arm over Mark’s shoulders, and Mark brushes him off with a sharp “Don’t touch me.”

They’re ignored, and Amy flips the computer towards them. “Yup. His wife; She lives near the car shop, wanna check it out?”

“Nah.” He smiles at their server, who reappears to drop off their order, then resumes the conversation once she’s out of earshot. “But we’ll keep it in mind. Kinda sounds like the dude split.” The top bun of his burger is lifted, and he stares disdainfully at the wimpy contents. “I don’t blame him.”

* * *

When the clock winds down to 10PM in Rentonsville, long after the shops and citizens turn out their lights, the final janitor for the Sharppe Community College exits the silent art building, unaware that he is being watched. 

That’s when the occupants of the van parked discreetly behind the bushes make their move. Armed with EMF readers, salt, and iron weapons of their choice, Amy checks for cameras while Mark approaches the door, lockpick in hand.

Ethan leans against the glass, unsteadily holding the flashlight and watching Mark work through the tumblers of the lock mechanism. He also giggles periodically every time Mark  _ thinks  _ he’s got the door open, and then fails. 

Mark tugs at the door, scrunching up his mouth when the deadbolt catches once again. “Shut up, I got this,” he snarls at the hyena with hair gel. “Shut up. Shut your face.”

When success finally strikes him, he purposely puts a hand out to block Ethan, allowing Amy to enter first, then promptly shutting the door behind him.  _ He can open his own damn door. _

The auditorium is silent like a mausoleum, cold and empty, yet with the presence of something long forgotten and decrepit.  Their flashlights reflect off the ladder and tool kit propped up on the stage, as well as the lights hanging from the ceiling, long grown cold. 

Behind the heavy curtain, they scope out the general area, laden with props and art pieces. A beam of light reveals the ladder to the crows nest, and the woefully thin passageway.  It’s a toss up as to who’s going up. Ethan backs out immediately (and predictably), leaving either Amy or Mark. “I’m too thicc,” he admits shamelessly, leaving Amy to begin climbing. 

“Keep your phones on you!” She shouts as she disappears from sight.

They agree, and it slowly dawns on Mark that he should’ve tried harder to fit, because now, he’s stuck with Ethan. 

Ethan, who just put his foot through a background prop.

Great.

With a lighthearted-ish smack on the arm, Mark ushers him along and further into the darkness. Despite Ethan’s mouth breathing, and the occasional bout of footsteps above them, silence chokes the air around them in the oppressive, lightless maze of old paint cans and wood. The stage is even still set up for the awards night, a silent exhibit for an audience that will never arrive. 

“Who do you think it is?” Ethan shines his light around in a slow arch, and still manages to beam it directly into Mark’s retinas. 

He hisses out a reply, despite being the only people there. “We don’t have any leads, so...yeah. I don't know _.” _

“I was just asking”

“Well just keep looking.” Mark’s brows crease together, shaking the EMF reader like a freshly printed polaroid. “There’s something going on here.”

“What do you think it wants?”

“I don’t  _ know!”  _ He waves an arm in frustration. “Blood?”

“I think-”

“Just shut up and look! How hard is that?!”

Ethan takes a step back, walling off his emotions but the hurt seeps through the cracks. “I’m really trying my best here, I’m just asking. Sorry.”

There’s a low burn in the back of his throat with all the petty jabs he could make. But the small voice in his head tells him to cool it. The voice usually sounds like Amy, but that’s not important. With a forced sigh, meant to be a calming breath, he works an agitated hand through his hair and mumbles a short “Whatever.”

Wordlessly, they branch off from each other.

_ Godammit.  _

Maybe he owes the kid a real apology. Maybe he needs to give him a little slack.  _ Maybe, maybe, maybe.  _

All he can think to do is  _ push.  _ Push him till he breaks. Never give in, never relent to the questions and the touchy-feely nonsense. 

Amy usually calls him on it, but  _ him…. _

He just lays on the guilt like a wet fucking blanket and  _ pouts.  _ And boy, does that that kinda sting. Mark wanders around, occasionally fiddling with the wires, odds and ends, looking for a clue, or whatever. The further he moves, the less the reader gives him. Leaving him in the dark.

Ethan lets him stew in silence for a minute or so before speaking up again from somewhere beyond his field of sight. “Hey Mark?”

He ignores the way he draws out his name, and guesses that it could be either an accent or annoyance. “Yeah?”

“What’s a mannequin look like?”

_ “What?” _

“What’s a m-”

“N-no, I heard you. Wha- Why are you asking?”

“Well, what’s it look like?”

“I dunno. Creepy? Plastic, stiff, whatever. Why?”

“So... this is a body, right?” 

Mark storms towards him, dodging random blurs and feeling his heart pound with his footsteps. He finds Ethan easily enough, the kid’s gone so pale he practically glows. Using his flashlight, he motions to the corner, just behind a large trunk under the fuse box. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s a body.”

* * *

“Peter Balcera, fifty three, former electrician, and now super dead,” Mark spouts off, ducking under the yellow police tape and approaching the van. 

Amy sat this one out, choosing to sit with Ethan for what he assumes is ‘moral support’ while the blue and red lights flash bounce the van. There are way worse things to see than a guy with his skull caved in, and he gets the feeling now’s not the time to mention it.

“No murder weapon, no record of anyone else going in there with him, nothing.”

Ethan looks up at him, a small feat considering the bags under his eyes. “What would a ghost want with a janitor?”

“Electrician,” he corrects him, flipping his phone screen to face him. “Only one in town.”

“Hang on-” Amy snatches his phone, holding it parallel to hers as she scrolls, “-Yep.”

“What?”

“He look familiar to you?”

On her screen, pulled up to Presley’s old facebook littered with a few random posts and pictures of his dog, is a clear photo of him and a newly familiar face. 

“Shit. Is that Balcera?”

She draws in a long breath. “Yep.”

“Maybe it’s a….photo op?”

“Nope. ‘Caught seven bluegill and eight crappies, not a bad day, especially with a bud like this’.” No longer reading from the post, she gives him a grim look. “I think we need to talk to his wife.”

“Tomorrow.” 

Hunter or not, it’s almost midnight. They need sleep.

* * *

It starts off normal. 

His  _ new _ normal.

Fighting with Ethan. The words are too garbled to really know what it’s about, he’s just aware that they’re bickering and raising their voices and getting closer, the image of themselves wavering in the heat of it. 

He shoves him, igniting something.  _ Everything. _

Hands on his shoulders, staring him down. Pinning him easily, feeling his mouth water as Ethan slowly brings his hands around his waist and dips into the crease of his stomach and-

_ Fuck. _

Mark sits up like he’s been shot. Fast, sharp, and almost pained. But not quite.

He was close, too close considering he’s sharing a room with two other people. Amy’s a deep sleeper, and Ethan’s still dead to the world on the pull out. Flopped over sideways and face half buried in the spare pillow, he’s not waking anytime soon.

Throwing back the sheets, Mark pads towards the bathroom, making sure the door is closed before turning on the lights, so as not to wake anyone.

Mark falls against the tile, dipping a hand under the waistband of his boxers. When he closes his eyes, he can still feel the remnants of his dream, lingering underneath his skin and dropping all heat in his body into his gut.

His breathing is already heavy in his chest as his hand strokes firmly over the familiar contours of his cock, slowly letting the details come back to him. 

_ Ethan. Underneath him- _

_ No. _

_ On top. _

His eyes flutter at the image, reveling in the thought as he pushes back against the wall and enjoys the little shocks of pleasure rolling up his spine like cars on a freeway. The drag of his own rough hand against bare flesh has him chasing something that’s not quite enough, but as he filters through all the ideas in his brain, he brings himself closer to the edge.

The muscles in his back stiffen up as a particularly good roll of his hand stretches out the feeling enough to finally overwhelm him and make his legs tremble. His mouth parts in a soft gasp, remembering to keep quiet and at the same time feeling like he’s forgotten how to breathe. 

Everything in his mind melts together into a tangled wave, crashing against his skull and setting everything alight before settling into a smooth tranquility. 

Panting, he drops his head, his thoughts blissfully blank and his body comfortably numb. It was definitely one of the best orgasms he’s had on his own, but all he can think about is still Ethan _.  _

He pushes those thoughts aside as he cleans himself up and falls back into bed, letting the afterglow sink into his body and drag him down into unconsciousness.

  
  



	9. 'Slow Dancing in a Burning Room' - John Mayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a lil' investigating (and also major angst)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wOW! Mental health, amiright? *half-hearted finger guns*  
> Things have been a little tougher lately, but I still have lots of ideas for this story and plan to continue, no worries there. Chapters might be a little slower, but I love writing and have no plans to stop. Have a good one guys👍

With fast food for lunch (Technically, it was still breakfast time, but _apparently_ the clocks in this town were not properly synchronized). Mark eats, despite his resentment, while they convene in the van. 

“So,” he explains, “Balcera definitely had something to do with Presley pulling a disappearing act, yeah?” He chews through another bite of his sandwich. “And now Presley gets his revenge after...forever. So...now what?”

Amy, who’s sprawled out picnic style with Ethan in the back, flips through her notes with a frown. “We still don’t know what he’s attached to, or why. Or why he waited so long, even. Or what Balcera even had to do with it.” She tosses her notebook aside with a small huff. “Wow. That’s a lot we don’t know.”

With a soft _hm,_ Mark taps a few fingers against the wheel. “We could head out. Kinda seems like things worked themselves out.”

 _“Mark,”_ Ethan whines, “We can’t _leave!_ People died!”

“Only one person died, technically”

“Mark.” Amy tosses a fry at him, swallowing a giggle when it bounces off his head. “We gotta see this thing through, you know?”

“Yeah yeah.” He watches the irregular flow of traffic, cycling through the minimal ideas he had at the moment. “So what’s next? Presley’s wife?”

“Looks like it. And in the meantime-”

“More research.” Ethan nods his head, mouth pursed. “Yeah.”

“And stay at the motel this time,” Mark warns, pointing a finger at him. “We’re working a case, not babysitting.”

He doesn’t have any snark or complaints to throw back. Ethan just turns his head down and picks at his wrap without comment. 

Whether or not that’s a good thing, Mark doesn’t have the care to decide.

* * *

They have to ring the bell twice before the yappy little mutt in the window gets the attention of the homeowner. 

Ms. Presley appears to be a remarkably timid woman. Her watery eyes address the both of them with great concern, and they waver over their badges. 

“Ma’am,” he begins, “My partner and I are handling the current case over at the college, and we’ve noticed some...overlap, between a cold case in the area. Do you have a minute?”

“Oh, I suppose.” She collects the dog, tucking it under her arm and leading the way. 

They settle into the breakfast area, crumb remnants littering the countertop before she sweeps them away with an aged hand. There’s an attempted apology for the mess, but Amy politely declines it. 

“Carl?” Her voice is near astonished when they mention his name, as if his presence is a permanent crumb in her kitchen. But the wavering in her word is more than age. 

“Yes, we’ve noticed some similarities and were hoping to learn more about him.” Mark flips open his notepad. “Was he acting strangely that day? Did he say anything to you?”

“It’s been quite a few years,” she stammers.

“Anything’ll help”

“Well, no. Not that I can think of.” Her voice grows more somber. “Everything seemed, um, we’d just celebrated our 32nd anniversary and-” She draws in a short breath as the countertop is gripped a little tighter. “There were some problems with the shop but other than that said he never said anything. He went in late to fix some issues and never….he never...if he was unhappy-”

“Did he have any enemies?”

Amy kicks him under the table, but it’s a relevant question.

“Not at all. Carl was a wonderful man, his mechanic work was...was great.” When Ms. Presley looks away to dab at her eyes, Amy gives him the signal to wrap it up.

“Uh, ma’am, thank you for your time. Just one more question, was your husband good friends with a man named Peter Balcera?”

“Oh god, Peter. Yes, they were so close. Oh, oh my. His poor family. His poor _son-”_

“Did they ever argue? Have any fights?”

“Hm? No, they grew up together. Pete would help fix up the electrics at the shop, and his son Noah would help with our yard work. They were family,” she says with an empathetic nod.

Mark taps his pen against his notepad. _Great. Just great. Not helpful at all._ “Thank you for your time.”

He barely lets them get out the door before spewing his frustrations. “So what now? Best buddies don’t usually smoke each other, you think she’s lying? Because I’ll-”

“I think she’s telling the truth, or at least what she knows.” Amy holds her head high, always seeing the best in little old ladies.

“They always lie in the beginning-”

“We’ll just look elsewhere. We know he’s still hanging around the school, maybe we just need to keep looking”

“Like where?” He can feel a long sigh sitting in the back of his throat, but he doesn’t give in. It curls loosely around a snappy comment he could make, although he doesn’t know what his problem is. “You know, maybe we should check out Balcera’s house; keep an eye on his family, make sure they’re safe…-” _And there’s the sigh, “-_ I don’t really know where to go after this.”

“Yeah,” she says quietly, buckling herself into the passenger seat.

“You and Ethan can stake out the house while I check out the shop”

“Yeah, sure.”

Mark can feel the cool breeze from her words raise the hair on his arms. “What?”

“Nothing.”

 _Yikes._ Never a good sign when she hits him with a ‘nothing’. He presses again, and one more time to get his answer. 

With a nervous twitch, she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, talking while keeping her head down. “It’s just been...a little hard trying to keep the peace between you two.” She runs an absent hand up and down her arm, still watching the floor. “I don’t know what’s going on, but maybe you guys should stake out together. Just... have a night to talk.”

Mark wants to jump out of the car, but instead he jumps to the defensive. “No...yeah, no. I...need space. I just need space from him right now. I’ve been shoved in a car and a fuckin’ motel room with him for the last… like, week. I just need _space.”_

“Mark, it’s _just_ been a week.” The way she’s talking, it’s almost...disappointed. Frustrated. That’s an unusual territory for her. “And...it’s kinda obvious you’ve been avoiding-”

“I have _not._ I have not! It’s not….-” His mouth opens and closes, struggling to circle back to his argument, “-Look, if you know so much about this then what-what do I do? What am I supposed to do?” 

He jerks the wheel a little harder than necessary on the next turn, nearly clipping the curb. “He’s not exactly a real hunter, alright? He’s _barely_ a hunter, he’s been on _one_ case.”

“Why do you-” Her sentence breaks with a short huff, “-You don’t have to...he’s _learning_.” Amy gains steam, talking louder and motioning with her hands. “He’s learning! And besides, we’re all he’s got-”

“All hunters are all they’ve got! I mean, come on!”

The seat groans when she sits back with force, looking hurt. “I don’t get why you have to be like this sometimes.”

_I don’t either._

“I’m not going on a stakeout with him. And I’m definitely not going with you.” _She’s really putting her foot down on this one._

“Amy,” he laments, “Hey-”

“No! I’m-” Her voice cracks a little. “This is really hard. It’s hard for me too!” 

In defiance of her stare, he doesn’t look away from the road because that would inevitably break him. “Mark, you’re family. I know what it feels like and I know _you_ know what it feels like to be alone and-and have nothing but a freaking duffel bag. A freaking _backpack_ and _…”_

She shakes her head, moving the thin line of her mouth around with uncertain words. _“Mark._ Lighten up on him. Lighten up, _please.”_

An uneven stretch of quiet divides them for some time. It’s unnatural presence is only shifted by the occasional harsh breath of abandoned words and sharp defenses. He could never possibly sum up a ‘heartfelt’ apology, but Mark’s slowly becoming aware he might not be on the winning side of this argument.

“Look,” he tries to start, and fails. He has to claw his way back out of the silence, refusing to let it drag him down. “Look, why don’t me and you check out the shop today, and then we can stake out tomorrow-”

 _“No_ Mark. People have _died!_ I know you... it’s just…we have nothing but bodies right now, we’re running out of time.”

“We have _a_ body,” he mutters.

An icicle slams through his chest and _shit_ he should have kept his mouth shut because her defeated little _“Mark”_ just kills him.

“Something weird’s going on, really weird.” _Did she always sound this tired?_ “We need answers, at the very least Presley’s body or whatever he’s attached to. We _need_ answers.” Her eyes rest on his sour face, crushing him with the weight of what’s behind them. “It’s getting to be a lot.”

He gives in.

There’s no way to make it sound better, or spare his ego. He can’t keep fighting her on this, he can’t fight his family. His copilot. His best friend.

Mark. Gives. In.

* * *

With a little more force than necessary, Mark swings the door open and even gets Ethan to flinch. _Good times._

“So what’d you guys find out?” He asks, perking up quickly from his desolate spot at the table.

“Not much, he, uh….” Mark falls into a sigh, trying quickly to recover from his exhausted emotional state, “Presley and Balcera were good buddies, I guess. Amy’s gonna check out the shop tonight.”

He snags a can from the grimy little fridge humming away, gritting his teeth. “You and me are staking out Balcera’s place tonight.”

“Really?” Ethan sounds about as excited as he was, but Amy’s glare over the top of her reading material spurs him on.

“Yeah. Yeah, you know, you and I could….learn a lot. I’m guessing you’ve never been on a stake out?”

“Uh, no.”

“Cool. Good learning experience.” He draws out the words with a heavy breath, hating everything in this conversation and breaking the topic as quickly as possible. “So, where’s Balcera live again?”

* * *

It is the middle of fucking nowhere. This whole town is just loosely connected houses and gas stations and it is absolutely ridiculous.

And you know what? Of _course_ their murder suspects family would live out in the country surrounded by empty fucking fields and creepy deer. 

There they sit, at the end of a crappy gravel driveway near the woods outside of town. 

Just him and Ethan.

God, he wants to crawl out of his skin.

 _It hasn’t even been that bad._ Ethan’s barely even said anything to him, just turning the same art pamphlet over and over again while they watch a silent house. 

“Maybe we should check out Gabbi Melvill,” he pipes up after a while.

“Who?”

“The art contest, she was in it with Dakota and N-”

“Oh. Nah, probably a dead end. We should stick with Balcera.”

“Yeah but-”

“Just forget it.”

Ethan goes quiet, but he doesn’t stop looking at him. On minute three he brings up what had to have been sitting on his chest for the drive. “After this case... I think maybe I should catch a ride back to Maine.”

“Wait, what?” Mark splutters, “Why?”

“Just…” He rubs at the fatigue wearing on his cheekbones. “I dunno.”

“If this is about your hunting-”

“Do you even want me around?” He snaps suddenly, and before Mark can scrounge up an answer, he’s on a full binge. “Seriously. Do you? Because lately it’s been kinda hard to read you and...and do things right because it feels like everything I do you hate. And now it’s like any time I try to help I’m just getting in the way.”

“Eth, that’s not true-”

“Feels like it.” He edges his words with steel, biting them out white-hot and sharp. His head drops into his hands, heavy with turmoil. 

There’s something deeply wrong with Mark. His chest feels empty, but in a magnetic way. Like if he were to hold Ethan he might get his missing piece back.

“That night,” Ethan says, thick with hurt, “Is that why I’m here? To...just keep around like that?”

Glass and sand flood his throat. His mouth struggles to say the few words his brain can actually supply him with. “N-no, no, I swear. It’s not like that. Hunters….they….uh, they gotta-we gotta stick together, you know?”

From his expression, he does not.

“What you did back at the school, that was...that was good. Yeah, it was good. You figured out how to get in there without a badge and get info, that was good thinking.” Mark leans forwards, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re here because we’re all you’ve got, and you’re….you’re all we’ve got. Hunters have each other, yeah?”

When Ethan looks up, Mark can see the wetness on his cheek shine in the moonlight. For all the emotional deadness he carries, it’s easy to see Ethan’s not like that. He’s still good, full with a bright shiny soul Mark will ruin if he sticks around too long. And yet he meant every word. 

Longer than necessary, he keeps his hand on his shoulder, massaging it gently because what the hell else is he supposed to do? 

“You know you’re an asshole sometimes.” Ethan’s dry chuckle is intermittent with sniffles, but it takes a weight off him.

“Yeah,” he says soberly, albeit with a soft smile.

“Like, all the time”

“Yeah”

“It’s your big head.”

Mark chuckles, moving his hand to thumb over the curve of his jaw, tracing across the sharp lines of his face. “My big _handsome_ head.”

“Yeah, sure.” His smile drops a bit, the green of his eyes flushed out by tears and the slight crinkle of the edges. When Mark’s hand shifts to cup his cheek, he leans into the touch, sighing quietly.

The way he leans into him, the subtle give of his demeanor, it’s got him feeling sappy. “You know,” he murmurs, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Oh, yeah. All gangly and weird, such a catch”

“I’m serious.”

Ethan looks up, doubtful, and his face burns at the soft words from Mark. “You’re gorgeous.”

Neither look away. 

Neither stop the slow pull towards each other.

Until Ethan clasps both hands around his neck and crashes his mouth into his.


End file.
